


Strapped

by GomorrahHillsides (Within_N_Without)



Series: Autocorrect [6]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Off-camera Molestation, Protective!Steve, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 04:50:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13967676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Within_N_Without/pseuds/GomorrahHillsides
Summary: There's no excuse.It's Danny's fault. He was negligent. Sometimes you don’t realize what you don't know until it's too late, but it should've occurred to him to check whether Delano was still with HPD. Especially after all the changes he's introduced into this timeline.Instead, he just assumes.Fuck, he shouldn't have assumed.





	Strapped

**Author's Note:**

> Story So Far:  
> \- Danny told Steve about the time travel  
> \- Danny let his brother get arrested  
> \- Danny and Steve started a (so far) PG relationship  
> \- Jenna has arrived  
> \- Wo Fat has been captured  
> \- Danny made a fake deal with Wo Fat hoping to make the man target him instead of Steve  
> \- Danny told Steve about Doris  
> \- Wo Fat was arrested and carted off by the FBI  
> \- Steve went to see Doris  
> \- Lori joined Five-0, Jameson's still in office, Cath knows what's what, Rachel asked Danny to be the sperm-donor, and Doris is in Hawaii  
> \- A mysterious caller told Danny to show up alone in Waimanalo for the exchange – 10 million for the information Wo Fat wants 
> 
>  
> 
> Note: Sorry for taking so long. Of course the shortest installment would take me the longest. I wrote this twice, amid numerous distractions. One more part officially left. It's likely going to be much longer since there's a number of scenes I want to cover and all plot threads need to be knotted together so the guy with the shoes doesn't trip. Shouldn't take as long since a lot of those pieces I've been itching to write. Also, I'll endeavor to leave some options in the last part of this series for stories to work on next, in case you'd like to have some input : ) cheers
> 
> Note 2: 10-32 is apparently police code for Man with Gun, and 10-31 is apparently Crime in-progress

At 8:30PM on Monday night, inside a squat, empty house in Waimanalo, Danny leans against the windowsill, watching the quiet street from the quiet living room. 

No one lives here. According to the records, the house is in foreclosure. He's checked the address twice. He doesn't know how much longer he should wait.

The team is half a mile away, prepared to rush in if need be. All he has to do is press a hidden button on his very James Bond watch, courtesy of Toast. And that's really the extent of their plan. Since they don't know what to expect, all they have is a narrative to feed whichever goons show up. Although, it's looking less and less likely that this deal is going down. 

They'd tracked the original call to a burner phone. Danny tries calling the number but an automated voice informs him the number's been disconnected. 

Well, that's great. 

At a loss, Danny gives it another thirty minutes but, once it hits the top of the hour, he leaves. Driving past the location where Five-0 is holed up, he slows down just enough to ensure whoever's on window surveillance will see him alone in his car. 

And then he goes home. As far as he can tell, no one’s trailing him. Inside the house, the alarm is still armed, doors and windows all locked. 

No ambush awaits.

What does it mean?

An hour later, Steve walks in, already stripping as he makes a beeline for the lanai and the ocean beyond. 

He's pissed, obviously doesn’t want to talk, but as he passes Danny, Steve leans in and kisses his cheek. 

On reflex, Danny twists his head to brush lips against Steve's neck before he's out of range, smearing a heavy coat of chap stick on tanned skin. And, as irritated as he may be, Steve still huffs in amusement.

It’s an unexpectedly sweet exchange and definitely new. It cuts through Danny’s anxiety enough that he’s able to sit down and think about the problem rationally. 

Without a doubt, he's going to need to talk to Wo Fat again – and that, in itself, won’t be an easy meeting to set up, given the CIA's carted him off to Location Unknown. He's got plenty of questions, but one stands out as the root for all the rest –  _why_ _was I_ _stood_ _up_?

Is it because they found out the deal was fake?

Was it a test, because he's Five-0, to see whether he told his team?

Is this Wo Fat trying to force a renegotiation?

Or is this an independent decision that Wo Fat's henchmen have made? Just how loyal are they to their imprisoned leader? 

It's over a week before Danny gets an answer. 

Not in the way he thought he would.

Just before noon, he gets a call to go down to HPD. Duke Lukela wants to discuss a cold case he thinks is related to the double homicide Five-0's investigating. It's a normal request from someone he trusts. Figuring it'll take some time to find the box of evidence and pick Duke's brain for any latent memories, Danny shoos Steve towards Kono's car as the team heads out for lunch at the same time.

"You want the shrimp plate from Kamekona's?" Steve asks, waving Lori into the backseat so he can ride shot gun. 

She snorts at him and hops on the back of Chin's bike. 

"Don't think I'll be done for a while," Danny says, twirling a keychain flash drive around his thumb. "I'll grab a sandwich from the corner store. Call me if something comes up, but otherwise, I'm going to buckle in at HPD.  No telling what Duke might remember once he sees the old evidence side by side with the new stuff."

Steve's face gets grouchy. "Fine. Get a sense for what's there. If it looks promising, rope Duke in and bring everything back here. We'll help you go through it."

Danny tisks at him. The man's transparent as a bubble.  "Stop looking for excuses to put off the paperwork from yesterday's drug bust.'

"Active investigations trump paperwork."

"Unless there's fresh bodies or national press coverage, the bureaucrats are going to care more about the paperwork than a faster close. I swear they plan their budgets around your crazy."

Unfortunately, when Danny arrives, Duke's on his way out. 

"I'm sorry, Detective. There's an emergency on the H-1. The only available units are too far out for a timely first response." Locking his office door, he hands Danny a list and a key with the other. "I had the files delivered from the warehouse this morning. They're downstairs in temporary storage. You'll want all three lockers on that list and, whatever you do, don't lose the master key." 

Three lockers apparently equates to seven boxes worth of files and physical evidence. It could take over a week to go through it all. Quickly skimming the top layer of the folders as he pulls the crates, he finds the victims' financial records and most recent transactions, some amateur profiling of a possible perpetrator or perpetrators, a tentative list of suspects, all of whom had alibies for the time of the murder, fingerprint sheets, lab tests...it's much more than Danny had expected.

Checking his watch, Danny wonders if he should just call Steve now to help him haul everything to the palace. When Duke's free they'll get his input and, in the meantime, they can divide and conquer the mountain of evidence.

There's a whistle behind him and he hears a voice say, "I am one lucky sonuvabitch." 

Before he can turn around, Danny feels a pinch at the back of his neck. The way the world goes fuzzy leaves no doubt as to what's happened. As his hands start to slip on the box he's holding, a wave of manila folders spills onto the tiled floor, pages fluttering out.

"Wh-wh-whooo...?" Danny tries to say, even as he sags closer to the floor. His knees audibly strike against the tiles and it should hurt like a bitch, but somehow the pain is too far away. His skin feels numb. Where's his face? He tries to poke his cheek. Is he...yup, that's the ceiling above him, a bed of manila beneath him. 

Detective Frank Delano's face swims into view.

"Y-y-yoooou!" Blinking hard, Danny tries to point at him. His finger swerves in the wrong direction and his eyes can't focus. The lights in the room are turning off, or getting eaten by the dark, more like, the black at the outer edges of his sight spreading inwards like an ink stain.

The last thing he's aware of is the feel of Delano's hands circling his wrists as he hushes him. 

"Shhhhhhh..."

He wakes up choking on icy water, shocked nerves jittering into consciousness. His eyes burn almost as much as his lungs as he tries to hack the liquid back up his throat. His clothes are soaked. There's water dripping off the ends of his fingers, his chin, his hair.

And yet, for all that, Danny's movements are lethargic. His spine is stiff, painfully twisted, slumped as he is in the chair he's chained to by the wrists and ankles. 

A dark chuckle fills the room. 

Head turning towards the source, Danny finds himself squinting into a glaring light. He flinches at the touch of freezing fingers that seize his chin, a thumb roughly swiping over his mouth. 

"Are you wearing lipstick?" Delano asks, looming over him. 

Danny can't see the smile on his face, but it's there – in the smug amusement of his voice. There are a hundred and one things he wants to say to Delano. Half of them, curses and commentary on how he best embodies the morality of insects. What comes out though, with disturbing, slurred slowness, is a croak and, "N-no, n-not any...not anymore. Ssssteve said no more chapst-k." It's not a detail he wants to part with. He's not sure why he offered it in the first place.

"Christ, it's going to be at least another hour before you're the least bit useful to me. Didn't realize you were such a lightweight." 

"M'not light....Kono can't lift me," Danny says. The buzz of M's is so pleasant on his lips that he starts hummmming. At first, he starts with no intention of a melody, but his thoughts, as they often do, stray towards Grace and Charlie, and without realizing, he picks up the tune of "My Favorite Things" from  _The Sound of Music_.

It isn't until he hears Delano chuckle that he snaps out of it. 

Christ, what is he doing? Sitting in the basement of HPD, humming to himself. Unwittingly serenading Delano with his kids' favorite lullaby. 

He's at  _HPD_.

Without warning, he hollers at the top of his lungs, "Ten-Thirty-Two! Ten-Thirty-Two!" As many times as he can before Delano shoves something round and rubbery into his mouth.

"Do that again and I'll hit you with the stun gun, once for each time you shouted 10-32. I counted five," Delano says, surprisingly calm. 

Danny stares up at the ceiling, considering. 

The one remaining cylinder still firing in the back of his head informs him the basement has solid, concrete walls with a lot of dead air to swallow any commotion he might make. If those were the only obstacles to being heard, no question, he'd try again. But police stations are noisy. There's phones ringing off the hook, people shouting as they're booked and processed, cops mouthing off to each other and laughing throughout their shifts, anything to get their minds off the bad things they've recently seen on duty. The logical thing to do is keep his mouth shut, wait for a better opportunity, ease Delano into a false sense of security. 

But, after Delano's taken in his calm demeanor and removed the rubber from between his teeth, Danny takes a deep breath and yells all the louder, because really his lungs are bottomless given a good cause. "TEN-THIRTY-ONE! TEN-THIRTY – "

The rubber reappears in his mouth and a shock goes through him. Over and over...he doesn't get to count to see if Delano keeps his word. All too suddenly, the world bursts, colors merging until they're just bright lights. 

Although, it really isn't fair. 

After all, he didn't say 10-32. 

The second time around, there's no waterfall cascading Danny into wakefulness. Still unbearably stiff, but also chilled by his damp clothes and hair, he comes to in increments until the adrenaline kicks in at the end as he hears Delano ask, "You going to behave this time?" 

Danny's not sure if he intended to answer or throw an insult because what comes out is a pathetic "Muh" of complaint over the way his heart aches and all his muscles twitch. 

He can feel Delano judging him from the corner of the room, where he's sitting on a spare desk, the crates of evidence at his feet and files spread out or in stacks on either side of him. "Seems like it's been forever and a day since a difficult case crossed my desk. Ever since Five-0 started operating, most of the homicides I get are easy, open and shut – petty murders, as we like to call them. You know the ones.

"Domestic abuse taken too far, liquor store holdups, affairs gone wrong. I don't remember the last time I had to rub two brain cells together at work. If it weren't for my  _extracurriculars_..." He shrugs like the rest of the sentence should be obvious. 

Danny, however, is having a hard-enough time following what's being said. There's no way he can fill in what's left  _unsaid_. But even if he doesn't know where Delano was driving the car, he understands the tone he used. 

"Bitter," he mumbles. "You’re a lemon." Then he laughs. "Jus-just like a l-lemon carr, 'cept you're a lem'n cop." Fuck, he hadn't meant to say all that.

"I'm sure you didn't, but unfortunately for you, there's a lot of things you're going to say without meaning to. That's the beauty of this drug," Delano says, pointing to a table where the a set of syringes are lined up neat. The one he'd drained into Danny lies empty. "It slows down the part of your brain that's responsible for creativity. Makes lying harder, lowers your inhibitions, and erodes your brain to mouth filter." 

"'M nah telling you anythin'," Danny slurs, tongue thick in his mouth. It feels foreign and strange, like it doesn't fit anymore. He bites down hard, but can barely feel the pinch of teeth, even though slick, coppery heat ekes out of some small wound he's made. 

Chuckling, Delano leans close. "That's adorable. You think you're immune? Well, let's test it then on a few easy questions. You can satisfy my curiosity before we get to Mr. Wo's inquiries. Worst case scenario, if it doesn't seem like you're being honest, we can up the dosage or find a new extraction method."

"Y-you're wif Wo Fa'?" Oops. There's a plan he's supposed to be following. Here's the 'exchange' they'd been waiting for.  Hopefully, he hasn't fucked it up. But, already he can tell it's going to be hard to remember not to treat Delano like the bad guy. 

Especially given Delano's handsy flirtation. 

"Don'touch m-me," Danny mumbles, trying to duck the fingers that aim for his hair. He crows when he succeeds although he wishes Delano was less amused by his reaction. 

Also, as long as he's making wishes, he wishes Delano wouldn't circle him so that he's behind the chair. It sends unpleasant shivers up his back when he can't see him but can feel puffs of the man's breath on the back of his neck. And fuck, there are those fingers again, twisting into his hair, pulling his head back roughly. 

Dammit, last wish for any djinni listening – he wishes Steve was here.

"Ah, speaking of McGarrett –" 

Danny jumps. Both for how Delano says the words straight into his ear and the way he seems to be reading Danny's mind. 

"Oh no, sweetheart, I can't take the credit. You're the one sharing every little thought that pops into your head." There's so much smugness in Delano's voice, it's nauseating.

Maybe he says that out loud because suddenly something's pushed into his mouth and Delano shushes him again. 

Danny tries to gnash his teeth to dislodge the...fingers? He chokes at the realization and tries to spit out the appendages.

Delano just tuts at him and massages his tongue with two digits.

Danny tries gnashing harder but he must not be applying as much pressure as he thinks he is, because Delano's playing with his mouth like he would a puppy's. It's disgusting enough to make Danny gag. Gross, gross, gross...

"So, McGarrett – rumor has it, the two of you are unprofessionally close. Tell me about your relationship," he says with a note of cajoling as he removes his fingers so Danny can answer. 

The phantom pressure and aftertaste of salt in Danny's mouth makes him gag more violently. "Don'do tha' again," Danny tries to growl. In his own ears, though, the sound seems unfairly plaintive. 

It's such a seemingly small thing, but Danny can't help feeling violated, which is immediately worrying. He doesn't want to carry memories of today around with him for who knows how long. The next time he's with Steve, he doesn't want the phantom sensory imprint of Delano's fingers interfering with his perception of Steve's  _actual_ fingers. But a quarter of what makes an ugly thing ugly is that it lingers, festers, clings. 

Also, he shudders at the possibility that those fingers are just a prelude to further molestation. Fuck, he'd take a triple beating if it just meant he wouldn't get touched like that again.

"Shh, sweetheart, if your information is good, it won't go any further than this," Delano says. "Although, correct me if I'm wrong, but it sounds like you're sleeping with your boss. How did that start?"

Even in his drugged state, Danny can pick up on a pattern and he's noticed the drug's effects by now. Rather than making him happy to answer Delano's questions, seemingly the drug's made it so he can't think without saying things out loud. 

"S-steve died," Danny whispers and tries not to think anything past that, figuring it's safer to answer questions quickly and directly, before he can end up prattling all of his internal thought process out loud. He knows he sounds raw. 

It feels a little too honest, but it's also misleading. 

Delano circles back around to take in his expression. With high eyebrows, he hazards a guess, "What, his heart stopped after one of his stunts? Was it a  _miracle_ that he survived?"

Danny nods vigorously to keep his mouth closed. Lying right now might be beyond him, but maybe Delano can do it for him by filling in the blanks?

Except maybe following sadness with rigorous head-shaking doesn't make for believable body language because Delano snorts and half-circles him again. Like it's payback, Delano whispers in Danny's ear, "What a tidy arrangement. So, what came first? Did you become McGarrett's bitch before or after he started coddling you on the job?"

"E'scuse me?"" Danny's mouth drops at the accusation.  _Coddling_?! And since when has he been Steve's bitch? In what  _way_?

"Yes,  _coddling_ ," Delano sneers. "I may have never been on-scene at one of Five-0's shoot-'em-ups, but word gets around. "Apparently, you're very good at shouting at people from behind cover while McGarrett does all the work." 

Danny scoffs. "No'true. I shout cuz I care an' he makes rissky d'cisions. I foll'w him down pafs we shouldn'trav'l. 'S not proced're." Fuck his stupid, thick tongue. Twisting his neck, he wipes the drool from his chin into his moist toilette of a shirt. 

"You're not being coddled?" Delano completes the circle so he's back to staring at Danny, face to face.

"'M  _not_ ," Danny snaps, although Delano's smirk gives him pause. Why does this feel like a trap?

"So, you're just his bitch? He didn't have to offer you anything?"

Danny growls. "Not a bi'sh." 

"True or false?" Delano asks with what passes for playfulness. "He drives your car." 

Motherf – "Yes."

"You stopped wearing ties for him."

Danny intends to blame Hawaiian weather because it's a reasonable excuse. Before he can, his mouth blurts out, "Yeah, fine." 

"You do his paperwork."

"I'm the one with sup – superor –  _more_ e'sperience 'n domest'c, civ'lian peace-keep'ng." 

"Even though you nag him constantly, despite your  _superior experience in domestic, civilian peace-keeping_ , he never listens to you."

"Not nev'r!" 

"When's the last time he called for backup like you asked?"

Unfortunately, Danny blanks as, for a moment, he gets his Steves mixed up. Thinking back, he remembers the last case he worked with Steve before he got too sick to do field work, but it had been tamer than usual. There wasn't any reason to call for backup when they'd finally caught up with the ring-leader of the underground fight club at the beach-side bar, sipping on a Mai Tai. It wasn't even Steve who arrested the guy. 

It's been too long a pause.  

"Bitch," Delano taunts, taking the silence as confirmation. 

But Danny's still stuck in the memory. Steve, looking gaunt and haggard, his balance a delicate thing easily upset, skin sagging, eyes grey and knowing. And still too fucking proud to ask for help, to lean on Danny for more than the bare basics – groceries, trips to the hospital, picking up prescriptions. There was so much more he'd wanted to do, but he couldn’t. Not when it made Steve argue to exhaustion. When it colored his eyes in brutal defeat and sloped his posture. Danny's eyes heat and his face gets damper with the picture all too clear in his drugged mind's eye.

"Is that why you decided to make this deal with Wo Fat? To wrest some control from McGarrett? To be free of his tyranny? His abuse"

Danny has the presence of mind to leap on the explanation. "Yes," he says, because he's pretty sure he can't manage a better one. But even under the influence, he feels like something's wrong. After all, Delano has to have had numerous appearances in court and he's worked in tandem with prosecutors.

If this interrogation was being performed in front of a judge, someone would've called him out for leading the witness.

Unless it's – 

"If you're so desperate to be out from under McGarrett's power, why are you letting him fuck you in the first place?"

 – a trap.

This line of questioning is so far off script from what Danny's prepared for. He's got several addresses and coordinates memorized for locations in Hawaii, Japan, and Cambodia, as well as a semi-cohesive explanation for where and how John McGarrett might have come across the intel. For everything else, the plan was that he'd read the situation and improvise.

But this? 

The drugs are unexpected.

So is being held captive at HPD, a place the team, along with the AI they'd programmed, have no reason to find suspicious, even if Delano keeps him here all night. 

Without backup and with failing mental faculties, almost in a blind panic while the less-soused half of his brain is busy trying to think of a sneaky answer, Danny admits, "I love h-him."

"Then why would you betray his trust with this Wo Fat deal? Won't it be worse when he discovers the money trail?"

Later, this moment will burn, because there are so many answers he can give, one of which can legitimately be, "What's it to you?" 

Other reasonable answers include:

"Steve's flexible, but he's got lines he won't cross and I don't know if this is one of them."

Or, "Better to ask forgiveness than permission."

Or, "Ten million is too much to pass up, even for love."

Or, he can say nothing. 

What he says instead is, "S-steve alre'dy knows." 

"...I thought this Shelburn business had a lot to do with him, on a personal level. And he's okay with you giving that intel to Wo Fat?" 

Shit, shit, shit...

Danny manages not to say anything, but he can feel the muscles in his face contorting in panic.

Unfortunately, Delano doesn't need a verbal play-by-play to make an accurate guess. With a snort, he suggests, "You and McGarrett were planning to feed us bad intel." He takes a moment to read Danny's reaction – slumped shoulders and desperate eyes. "Okay, and why would you do that?" He asks aloud, but his gaze is off in the middle-distance as he considers the possibilities, trusting his own assumptions over Danny's answers. 

He's a cop, though. It's hardly a surprise when he guesses, "You want to dissolve his network, maybe find some of his resource cashes – the hidden bank accounts, hideouts, buried gold bars, the works. Essentially, you want to take his power away." 

Delano barely has to glance at Danny to see his conclusion confirmed. Immediately, he has his phone out and he's dialing someone. After a few seconds, someone must pick up because he gives away everything he's learned: Danny's betrayal, Steve's involvement, their mutual plot to bring down Wo Fat. 

The response he gets must not be too good because he grimaces as he says, "Understood," and hangs up the phone. Then he sighs and gives Danny this  _look_. As if he wants to blame Danny for something. 

"Wha'?" Danny dares to ask.

For a second, Delano looks like he's not going to answer, but then a dark smirk twists his expression. "Know any hit men? The guy I use is out on vacation and I've got your blood to spill and, afterwards, your body to get rid of."

"Your hands too preciouss to dirrty?" 

"I've read your file,  _Daniel_. I know you've worked organized crime. Don't make a mistake. The only reason I'm here, personally interrogating you, is because the opportunity was too fortuitous to pass up. I am not some rank and file peon in one of Wo Fat's grand schemes. Rather, I'm a kingpin in my own right. This, here, is me doing him a favor for which I expect to be doubly reimbursed." 

"Ooookay, Mist'r Delusion'l, then what're ya gonna do now that you've got no ex'cution'r on hand? You gonna drive me ou' to the mid'le of the jungle t'wait for his r'turn?" Danny's pretty sure his voice doesn't lilt towards hopeful at the end, even as he wonders if maybe he can taunt Delano into taking him somewhere the AI will find suspicious. 

Delano hums, tracing the lines of Danny's frame with his eyes. "Well, I can't keep you here for two weeks, now can I? Shift change is in a few hours. Moving you then should be less conspicuous.  But whatever shall we do with all that time?" 

There's no mistaking the suggestion in his tone. 

"Don'touch me!" Danny snarls, glaring. Not that he expects Delano to listen to him, but it's the first protest in what he expects to be a fight, the thought being that Delano probably won't try putting his dick in his unwilling mouth, but if he wants Danny's ass, he's going to have to unshackle him. Tensing in preparation for that moment, Danny glances at his surroundings, looking for anything he might use as a weapon. 

Except Delano turns away from him and wanders over to the table with the syringes. He picks one up. "What do you think, sweetheart? Another full dose? Although, you're kind of small. Maybe we'll start with half." 

"Ngh!" Danny strains against the cuffs, leaning away as far as he can go. At the last moment, as Delano reaches for him, Danny starts to thrash with the stray realization that a moving target will be harder to stick than a stationary one. 

Sighing, Delano shakes his head. "Pathetic," he mutters before painfully pulling Danny's head back by the hair and sliding the needle into his neck. 

The effects of the drug are immediate. 

His body relaxes, boneless, while his mind floats on the edge of unconsciousness. Before he tips over, he feels Delano's hand dip into the collar of his shirt, tugging the buttons open.

Then, nothing more. 

When Danny wakes next, it's like surfacing a deep, cold lake. 

So, a lot gasping and flailing as he tries to shake the tendrils of dread that still cling at the forefront of his mind. He's not immediately sure what's causing his unease, but the unbearable brightness of his surroundings, the fuzzy quality of his eyesight, the heavy sent of antiseptic and bandages that permeates the air, and the incessant beeping right next to his ear certainly don't help his disorientation.

"Hey, shh, you're safe, Danno. No one's going to hurt you, here. Not on my watch." Wide palms catch his floundering hands and guide them gently to the stiff mattress he's lying on.

Reflexively, Danny flinches at being hushed. It reminds him of something bad. A person who's not here right now. A place where he isn't right now. 

Because he's at the hospital. The noises and smells start to make sense, even as everything else remains frustratingly upside down and weird in his head. It feels like he's teleported or traveled through time again. Last thing he remembers was...dammit. He shifts minutely, trying to see where it hurts beneath the fog of whatever medication they've plugged into him via IV-line. 

"S-st've? H-how?" He asks in a voice so raw and scratchy that it has Steve reaching for the cup of water, complete with complimentary straw, he's got on-hand. 

"Here, you're probably thirsty." Steve holds the cup steady and aims the straw towards Danny's mouth. 

Taking small, slow sips, the way he's been told to do at hospitals too many times to count, Danny tries to make out Steve's expression – the most accurate barometer for how far Delano had taken his repulsive games after Danny lost consciousness. Unfortunately, for the moment, his vision is still bleary.

Deciding to circle back to the circumstances of his rescue, Danny moves onto his priority list of questions. Starting with, "Grace?" 

Fuck, but Steve's misery is so pronounced that Danny can see it through his filmy eyes. "She doesn't know. Neither does Rachel. By the time I got around to looking for you, it was almost midnight. And it was well past that before Frank Delano was arrested and you were brought here. It's still kind of early to call them, but if you want – "

"No, it's fine. Honestly, I don't think they need to know about this one. A brief drugging and a few shocks with a stun gun? That doesn't even deserve an honorable mention in the book of Five-0 retellings." 

Clenching his jaw, Steve doesn't offer comment. 

Ok, well, seems like they're talking about this first after all. No way is Danny going to stand by – well,  _lay_ by – and watch Steve nurse this unjustified guilt trip.

"It wasn't your fault, Steven. No matter what time you went looking for me." 

With hands curled into fists and his brow all furrowed, Steve looks ready to go to war against any absolution Danny might give him, determined to take the blame.

"You're an idiot, Steven. How were you supposed to know something was wrong? I was at the station, cops by the dozen on every floor, except the basement. You had no reason to be suspicious."

"I should've known from the text," Steve grinds out harshly. "It didn't sound anything like you. He wasn't even trying. Hell, just the fact that there were no spelling errors should've been enough.  I just thought you were pissed and then we got what we thought was a lead, but turned out to be a wild goose chase, and I forgot all about it. Until I got home and you weren't there. I checked your location, saw you were at HPD, and then went for a  _swim_.

"Dammit, I should've driven down to the station or, at the very least, called you. Especially since I couldn't think of a single thing that might've pissed you off. And you ignored all my responses, even though any one of the things I wrote should've guaranteed you'd call me, if only to chew me out.  _I should've known_." Steve crosses his arms quickly, jittery with what Danny imagines is the need to cave something in with his fists. 

Probably Delano's face. 

And, wow, that was a lot. Steve's not really the type to rattle off a whole mess of self-recrimination out loud. All of that probably used to live silently in Steve's head, guarded by Navy stoicism and absolute pig-headedness. 

It's a shock to hear it, which is why Danny takes an unprecedented amount of time to counter with, "Hindsight is 20/20, babe. You can't go through life questioning every little detail. There'll be days we all miss signs that'll later seem obvious. You going to blame us the way you're blaming yourself?"

Steve rolls his eyes, used to Danny pulling out the Double Standards Argument by now. "I'm team lead, Danny."

"And Chin and I both trump your experience on the force. He's been doing this since you were in high school but, in another life, he lost the woman he loved to Delano. Would you berate him for being naïve enough to believe Delano had any honor? Or me, for trusting that Reyes would let my brother go free? We both knew better, had a lot more to go on – "

"Stop! Ok, I get it. It wasn't my fault. Great. Message received."

Sighing, Danny wonders if there's anything he can say right now to make this better. This isn't what he's used to. Even as close as he and Steve had been in their twelve-year friendship, many things had been left unsaid. They'd leaned on each other, sure, but largely they'd solved their own problems – or left them unsolved for so long that some things festered or overflowed, spilling over the boundary into each other's territory and they both had to clean up the mess or risk drowning in it. 

Now, though, this is what sharing everything – time, money, furniture, a roof,  _feelings_ – leads to.

Shared problems. 

Danny just hopes he'll be able to halve this one, as opposed to doubling it. If you can't cheer up a McGarrett, then you can usually distract one. 

And there's nothing Steve responds as well to as a mission, which is why Danny confesses, "I told Delano the plan. He phoned it in. I'm sorry. I'm not sure what kind of damage control we can do at this point, but if there is something, we'd better get on that." 

Steve throws him an I-know-what-you're-doing look but runs with it anyway. "I'll have Chin check his phone records, but if he wanted to pass on the message to Wo Fat, I'm guessing he called the lawyer. We can still head this off at the pass. Jenna can give him the run around until we find some leverage to shut him up." 

"You want to extort Wo Fat's lawyer?" There's a distinct lack of incredulity in his voice, to Danny's chagrin. God, he misses the days when this kind of behavior wasn't par for the course. 

"What, no lecture?" Steve asks when Danny doesn't say anything more.

He already knows a lecture about due process and law enforcement protocols won't do any good. "No, but don't think I'm letting you off the hook for this one. I'm just tired of explaining things to a lunkhead who never listens. A change in strategy is in order. I just haven't figured out what to replace my lectures with."

Steve seems to make a conscious decision not to worry about Danny's plans and, thankfully, he looks marginally more relaxed.

"So, w-whaaht happened with the case?" Danny asks, between yawns.

"I'll let you know in the morning. After you've had a full night's sleep." 

"It's," Danny glances at the wall clock, "four in the morning. Almost time to get up for work."

Steve catches the sly look Danny slides him. "Cute, but even I'm not that bad."

"Please. You'd insist you were just fine and it'd be the Battle of the Alamo to get you to stay in-hospital for the full recommended duration." 

"The Alamo? What does that even mean?"

"Completely hopeless. A lost cause. You, my friend, are preternaturally stubborn and, indeed,  _that_ bad."

"Shut up and go to sleep," Steve grouses, stealing the covers from Danny and forcefully tucking him in. 

As much as it seems like he's been asleep all day, Danny's admittedly tired. Doesn't even bother putting up a token fight. 

He listens to Steve settle in a chair and ignores the steady beeps around him, the scuffle of shoes in the hallway, the patter of rain against the window. He's so busy ignoring things that he almost misses Steve's voice in the ambient dark as he says, "By the way, none of it was your fault, either." 

He gapes at the outline of Steve's frame. "H-how'd you know? That it was bothering me, I mean." He asks, quietly, just over the sound of beeping from the machines standing vigil at his bedside.

"Because I know you, and you're a hypocrite," Steve teases, though a thread of seriousness prevails in his voice. 

Danny can tell it's a tentative insight. That this is Steve taking every bit of data he's painstakingly gathered from his interactions with Danny and hazarding a guess at the mess of dark feelings that hang like creepy scarecrows at the back of Danny's mind, antagonizing him and keeping him from dealing with those negative feelings. And as such, he wants to cut down some of those scarecrows and set their stuffing ablaze.

 _It wasn't your fault._  Four syllables that actually seem to lighten the burden of the last dozen hours. It makes Danny's heart swell, even if the statement doesn't resonate with him as truth. But he's willing to try.

More than that, he doesn't  _want_ to be so negative. In another life, when the parking garage had collapsed on top of them, Danny had been largely unconvinced. Didn't even really want to make the effort, since the love of his life was dating another woman and he was feeling like shit for dating someone he knew he'd never have serious feelings for. But now... 

"Quid pro quo," Danny offers, deciding not to mention all the other things he's promising alongside. "I'll try believing it if you will." 

"Deal." Thankfully, Steve sounds like he means it. 


End file.
